


White Lies

by Macx



Series: Denuo [69]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson sat in his office, staring at the file of one of his latest patients without really seeing it. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with a thumb and forefinger. They burned and he wasn't really reading much, nor was he really retaining anything of what little he read.</p><p>Was this worth it? Was his friendship with House worth this? He had taken a lot of abuse from his best friend in the last nine years, more in the time since the infarction, but never had the remarks gone that deep. Never had House stooped so low.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Lies

Winter had come and taken a hold of the country. Snow was piling up, and around Christmas accidents increased on the snow-drowned and icy streets. The ER was full and those working in the clinic were finding themselves with their hands full of road accident victims of all ages and genders.

On Christmas day, Wilson was on call and promptly ended up with another reckless driver and a few bumps and bruises. He spent most of the night in the ER, relieving a father of three who hurried home after thanking him profusely for taking over. Wilson had shrugged it off. It wasn't like he had a family waiting for him, children asking for gifts, and even when he had still been married he had worked on the 25th.

Of course, now he was in a relationship and his partner was home, but House wasn't a Christmas person. He claimed it was just another day. He would watch TV, eat some snacks, sometimes order out. Wilson smiled to himself as he closed another file for billing and went through the waiting list. A nurse called the next patient and he was busy again, this time with a broken penis.

Oh yes, Christmas cases were interesting.  
   
 

On New Year's, House and Wilson remained home, avoiding parties. Not that House was invited anywhere, but Wilson knew there were a few places in town the 'in crowd' was visiting. He didn't feel like leaving home. He was lounging on House's so very comfortable couch and they were enjoying some lazy moments in each other's presence.

Midnight had them out on the street, watching the fireworks, then hurrying inside for some more snuggling of a different kind.

Months passed and their new relationship was progressing, albeit slowly. Neither man was inclined to hurry. It had taken them almost ten years and what they had now was still developing.

Sometimes in rather painful ways…

* * *

It had been a difficult week. Not because of the clinic patients and Cuddy's insistence that Dr. Gregory House do his hours on the hour or double them because he had missed one or two. House had treated the sneezes and sniffles and aching backs and various infections and cuts and bruises and talked to the worried Moms and Dads and Aunts and Uncles, Husbands and Wives, until he had almost cried with relief over a new patient. Three days into that new case he was ready to treat whatever number Cuddy wanted in her clinic for a respite.

Whatever they did for the patient, he wasn't getting better. He was getting increasingly worse. His temperature was spiking, he had seized twice already, and organ failure was looming over them. His team was running around and doing tests, researching whatever tidbits they could pull from the test results, but nothing was there. Nothing! It was driving him insane and it had him sleepless over a patient for the first time in five years.

It wasn't so much the patient as the illness. House treated it like a personal affront. Here was an illness he was failing to diagnose. Yes, he was taking it very, very personally.

He slept mostly on the couch in the office, sometimes slipped into an unused exam room, and rarely came home. It wasn't like there was anyone there. Wilson was busy with his own cases and god was a son of a bitch for letting two heavy cases collide.

What House didn't know was what case exactly his lover was on. If he had known, some things might have been avoided. So he only knew that his patient was not only dying right under his nose, no, on day four more people were brought to the hospital within twelve hours of each other, all suffering from the same symptoms in various stages.

Things were turning into a madhouse and he was starting to feel the pressure. His team was growing used to his snappish moods, his rudeness reaching a new level, and every nurse and lab tech were trying to predict what he wanted before he could even formulate the words.

It was that time that Dr. James Wilson walked into the office of his best friend and lover, not knowing one vital fact: the first patient had died and two more had gone critical. All he knew was that he had lost one of his own, a very special case, and someone who House knew, too.  
   
 

"Hey," he greeted softly as he entered the mostly dark office.

House grunted something, red-rimmed eyes and dark circles on the more delicate skin underneath them showing his lack of sleep. He looked more scruffy than ever, his clothes past the stage of rumpled and into the next level of looking like a beggar. Wilson knew about bad cases and he felt the drain and exhaustion of his own.

"I came to tell you something."

Another grunt. House still wasn't looking at him, his eyes fixed on the writing on his whiteboard.

Someone, maybe even House, had wheeled it into the office adjoining the conference room. There were a list of diagnoses, many scratched out, more added, and various colors used.

"Andie died today."

Blue eyes flickered briefly over to him.

"You remember her," Wilson went on, leaning against the wall. He so badly wanted to sleep. "You did the autopsy on her. Almost exactly a year ago. She turned ten last month. Her mother sent a card."

House pushed to his feet and limped over to the whiteboard, drew a line through another diagnosis and wrote some additional notes on the board.

"Greg, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah. Cancer girl died. Too bad. Then again, she was terminal. It was to be expected."

"Don't you ever feel anything, House?" came the tired sigh of a man who was resigned to the knowledge that Gregory House didn't.

"Why should I feel something for a bald little kid whose time was running out?"

"Because she touched hearts?" Wilson shot back, feeling annoyance take over.

It was rare he grew annoyed to a point that it bled into his voice. With House, it was a double miracle he didn't let him hear how badly he sometimes wanted to wring his lover's neck. Today his nerves were stretched thin. He had lost a patient who he had fought over with House to take her on as a case. He had watched House's interest grow, and he had hoped for some attachment, but it hadn't happened. Andie had been a brave little girl and she had held on long, for her mother, for everyone, and she had had a heart of gold. Wilson knew that attachment was deadly for a doctor and he had told Cameron once what he thought about her private involvement in cases, her emotions going out to her terminal patients.

"So did Mother Theresa and I didn't cry for her," House growled.

"It wouldn't hurt you to show emotions sometimes!"

House whirled around and those sleep-depraved eyes glared at him. "It wouldn't hurt you to be more detached, Dr. Wilson. But like I said before, that's your pathology. You sympathize!"

Wilson felt the anger collide with reasoning, and reasoning lost. "Yes, I do care, House. If that’s pathology I gladly declare myself being sick. I care about my patients. And I care about you!"

Something seemed to change, some kind of jolt apparently went through the other man. "Is that it? You are? You sympathize and fuck the cripple because he doesn't get any?" House hissed. "How very generous!"

Wilson paled, his face taking on an unhealthy color, and his mouth opened for a reply, then snapped shut again. He turned on his heels and left the office. Pain and anger and silent rage bubbled inside him. He blindly grabbed his things and left, not looking back.

House just gave a huff of disgust and turned back to his open case file, eyes sweeping over the board. He had a puzzle to solve.

It was the day their relationship started to decline.

And everybody with two eyes and a single braincell could see it. Where there had been an easy, though strange and rarely rational, friendship between the two department heads, there was now only professional courtesy.

It all stemmed from James Wilson.

He politely talked to House should the other man start a conversation, but the distance grew. He wasn't cold or unfriendly, but anyone who didn't know either of them would believe they had just met and didn't know each other. Nurses began to talk, staff shot both men various looks, and House's team was worriedly watching their boss slave over trying to figure out an illness that had already killed one person and had put four more into critical condition.

House didn't really see or hear any of it. He was too deep into research and when he finally proclaimed the solution to their troubles, it saved four lives, but it started to destroy two others, one whom wasn't even aware of it.

Saving lives was easy when you knew the diagnosis. Saving a relationship… it would be all the more complicated.

*

Wilson sat in his office, staring at the file of one of his latest patients without really seeing it. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with a thumb and forefinger. They burned and he wasn't really reading much, nor was he really retaining anything of what little he read.

Was this worth it? Was his friendship with House worth this? He had taken a lot of abuse from his best friend in the last nine years, more in the time since the infarction, but never had the remarks gone that deep. Never had House stooped so low.

He had given him ten years of his life, three marriages, all of his time… and he had finally risked a relationship on more than a friendly basis, just to get it thrown in his face?

The answer was no, but his heart still clung to House. He had fallen for this man and he had given in to that physical need, allowing himself to become emotionally even more emotionally attached.

With a deep sigh of resignation, knowing he wouldn't get anything done, Wilson switched off the computer and called it an early day, which meant he got out on time. He nodded at the nurse on duty as he passed the desk and left the hospital. He drove home -- his own home -- feeling empty and lonely.

Instead of turning to his magazines and files he kept at home, things he read because they were of interest, he got out something completely different. Something that didn't involve Dr. James Wilson, oncologist, but James Wilson the ally. Dr. Jackson had sent new results from the latest blood tests he had run.

Wilson immersed himself in the work his colleague in Salt Lake was doing and felt himself seamlessly slide from oncologist to ally scientist. He had connections to the Nexus, he worked with Nathan on a regular basis, and their work was getting somewhere.

An hour later he was on his second cup of coffee, pizza had been delivered, a six-pack of beer was cooling in the fridge, and Wilson was making notes and writing comments on the prints. His mind hadn't completely blanked of Greg House. The pain was still there, as was the question why he was putting up with this abuse, but another, bigger part was too busy with his research.

* * *

"Today must be loser day," House growled as he threw yet another file onto the counter of the nurse's station.

The current nurse gave him a brief smile.

"One more loser and I'm going to get lost," House muttered. "'Can you lose a contact lens in your head?'" he quoted the patient. "Good god, how stupid can you be?"

She handed him a new file and he glanced at it. "Rosie Hamlin. She wear contact lenses?" he wanted to know.  
He didn't wait for an answer, just limped into the exam room, praying that the next five minutes until the end of his clinic duty would go by without stupid patients.

"Well, hello, Rosie," he greeted the thin, mousy-haired girl. "Lost something?"

She blushed a little.

Oh great.

"Actually… I think I lost my… ahem…"

He glanced at the file again and cursed his run of bad luck. "You think you lost your tampon in your body?" He sighed deeply and sat onto the chair. "Let me give you a lesson in anatomy, Rosie. And tell your friends."

* * *

Allison Cameron had always kept an eye on House. In the beginning it had been out of the misguided intention to change the bitter man into someone loveable and warm, someone who loved her. The idea to become the woman to change House into a human being again had backfired and that one date with a dinner was still very memorable in her mind. Still, she had persevered. She didn't dwell on her 'failure', just ventured forth and hoped for the best. Unlike Foreman, who frowned upon House's perception of what a doctor was and should do, Cameron didn't try to judge him any more. At least not too often. Now and then he managed to deliver another broadside that had all of them reeling.

Because she had been watching, she had seen the slow changes setting in after the attack on Wilson a few months back. House had been as shocked as everyone, and Cameron believed she had seen fear in those intense blue eyes quite often in the beginning. Then there had been a few more mood swings, some changes, and finally a kind of balance had set in.

It was the balance between House and Wilson she had wished to achieve with House herself and which she had failed to even come close to. Wilson had eight years on her in that department, and he had never worked for House on that level. He was his best friend, he consulted on House's cases, but never had either man been the other's boss.

Wilson had something special with House, she acknowledged that. After the attack that special something had been even further cemented. It was like an unbreakable bond that only grew in strength.  
Two days ago, that had changed. Something had happened between the two men and Wilson had suddenly become distant. He didn't talk to House outside necessary conversation, which was mostly when they passed each other in the hallway.

"Something's going on," Chase remarked as he sat with his crossword and a pen at the table, sometimes taking a bite from the apple that was his afternoon snack.

Cameron frowned at the empty office where their boss usually resided. House had disappeared to god knew where an hour ago.

"House probably pissed off the guy," Foreman remarked.

"Not an easy feat," Chase answered.

"Everyone has his limits. I think House found Wilson's. The guy's a saint for what he puts up with!"

"They are friends," Cameron only said.

"Friends doesn't justify the way he treats him."

"He treats everyone the same," Chase commented.

"Not Wilson," Cameron interjected.

Both men looked at her and she straightened a little in her chair.

"Wilson is his best friend. They've known each other for how long? I think House treats him different. And you never see Wilson back down."

"You mean like us?" Foreman grimaced.

Chase twirled his pen. "Okay, something's going on," he reiterated. "Wilson's not been here for two days, I haven't seen them actually talk…"

Foreman rolled his eyes. "As if that's any indication."

"It is!" Cameron insisted. "Chase is right. There isn't a day Wilson isn't around somehow. Lunch, consults, just dropping by. And have you seen them when they do meet? He's so… civil. Something's up."

"None of our business." Foreman turned back to reading a magazine.

Cameron exchanged looks with Chase, who only shrugged, then she sighed. No, it wasn't any of their business, but she wanted to know. The problem was that House would never tell her anything and Wilson would see through her immediately, a trait both men shared. She couldn't lie very well to either and subterfuge wasn't her strong point.

She resigned herself to watching – for now.

* * *

"Nausea, heartburn, gas, diarrhea," House read off the chart in the thin file. "Nice collection of symptoms."

He looked up and at the rather sick looking, middle-aged woman. Eileen Zimmer, the chart said. Single, no serious past history in medications or illnesses.

"It's nothing I ate," she almost whined. "I take care of myself. I eat only the healthy things."

"And miss out on so much fun in life," House murmured.

"What?"

"Do you take any supplements?" he asked out loud.

"Yes. I take magnesium and calcium and vitamins…"

"Vitamin C?"

"Sure."

He snapped the file shut. "You overdosed."

"On Vitamin C? But.. but it's healthy! It says it's to prevent stroke and asthma and high blood pressure…!"

He sighed deeply. "Everyone's a doctor. It doesn't prevent it, it lowers the risk. And taking too much of anything, even the good stuff, is overdosing. Get off the vitamins for a while, let the body break down what's in your system, and if you really want healthy, try fruits and vegetables. And quit smoking. That's not healthy either."

At her quizzical look he nodded at the yellow-stained fingers. "Your fingers."

A sheepish smile was on her face. House shook his head and left the examination room.

"House! My office!"

"Ah, the sweet voice of imminent danger," House sang and limped into Cuddy's office, facing the irate woman.

Well, that wasn't new. He rarely saw her in a good mood when she called him here, but right now he couldn't think of a thing he had done wrong. His clinic hours were being filled, if not by him then by his team, he was actually turning in a few case files for insurance billings, and he had solved the latest case within a few hours. He was proud of himself.

"What can I do for you on this fine day?"

"You can explain to me what's going on between you and Wilson!"

"Now that's personal and very much private information."

She had her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. "I'm not talking about your private life, House. I'm talking about this life here."

"I don't have a life here. I am the slave to your whims and wills, my dear Cuddy."

She frowned more, not relenting her posture. House leaned forward on his cane. He had no idea what she was actually talking about. Sure, Wilson hadn't been at their shared home for a few days, but once in a while he slept over at the apartment, which was closer to the clinic, and then there were the nights spent with a patient at the hospital.

House tilted his head a little.

Okay, so that was rare. He had seen little of his lover and if he hadn't been so out of it over the worst case he had ever treated, aside from the infected babies, he might have noticed their lack of partnership. But that had been only a week now, right?

"I have one nerve left, House, and you're getting on it!"

He smirked. "I'm that good, huh? I need to get out more, spread the damage."

"You're doing that just fine in these walls."

"No one's suing us, no one's blaming me for something someone else did, and you just had to find a reason to get me here in private, right? So you invented something about Wilson. Cuddy, Cuddy, Cuddy…" He tsked. "For you to stoop so low."

"Are you that blind or simply that stupid?" she shot back.

Cuddy reached for her phone. "Dr. Wilson, my office, please."

House just looked at her curiously.

"I won't have two of my senior doctors starting to give each other the cold shoulder, House!"

"I'm not…"

"Have you listened to yourself and Wilson lately?"

He frowned more. There had been little interaction, actually.

"Of course you haven't. I see him alone in the cafeteria, I see you sneak off to watch General Hospital without him bringing you chips or other snacks, and you arrive separately."

"We're not joined at the hip."

"I had a different impression for the last years."

"Well, you might want to open your eyes then!"

The door opened and Wilson walked in, stopping abruptly as he discovered House.

"Come in," Cuddy ordered, voice cool.

"We're having a party," House quipped, but it drew no reaction.

"I asked House already and I want to ask you the same question, Dr. Wilson: what is wrong between the two of you?"

Wilson's reaction was an equal frown. "Wrong? There is nothing wrong."

"See!" House triumphed.

Cuddy looked from one man to the other, taking in House's smirk, Wilson's neutral expression, and she sighed abruptly.

"Why is it I don't believe a word either of you says." She held up her hand as House opened his mouth. "You I don't believe on principle, but Wilson…"

The oncologist didn't even glance at his colleague, just stared straight ahead like he was part of a military unit.

"Fine," Cuddy decided. "I'm not going to do anything right now, but if this doesn't stop, I will."

Wilson turned on his heels, lab coat flapping slightly, and left. House frowned, still rooted to the spot as he was, and he watched his best friend disappear. Something was truly wrong. This wasn't the Wilson he knew.

"House?"

He looked at Cuddy, still puzzling. Her eyes were a bit warmer now, more compassionate.

"You really don't have an idea what happened?" she asked.

"No," he answered, voice softer than usual, and very serious. "Not a single clue."

But he would find out. He was a world-renowned diagnostician and he could follow the puzzle to completion.

Which was what he did.

* * *

House sat in his semi-dark office, staring at his whiteboard, tapping a pen against his knee.

James Wilson. Oncologist. That should be the header, the name of the 'patient'. He hadn't written anything down, though. Instead he stared at the empty board.

Finally House rose abruptly and went over to the board, ignoring the cane that leaned against the table.

'Symptoms' he wrote onto the left side, then drew a straight line down to make a table consisting of two columns. 'Cause' was written over the second column.

"Okay, symptoms," he murmured.

'Distance.'

Wilson had grown very distant lately. Not just physically, which wasn't such a problem. House wasn't some kind of husband or wife, nagging about him coming home late or not at all. He knew exactly what being a doctor meant. Many marriages had broken under the strain. At least one of the three Wilson wives had broken, too.

'Doesn't come home.'

It was one thing to be late or miss one night. It was atypical of their new relationship for Wilson to not make an appearance at House's place for a whole week. Even before they had become physical, Wilson had been over at least twice a week or they had gone for dinner, a movie, whatever.

House frowned and wrote down the next symptom -- 'Ignores dinner invitations' – which was also followed by 'Avoids me in cafeteria'. It wasn't that House had a sixth sense for when Wilson actually went there, but he knew his friend's habits and getting food at a specific time was one of those. Like Wilson inadvertently found him in one of the exam rooms or with the coma patient, watching TV and having a quick lunch.

'Lets other people lie for him.'

House had tried getting to Wilson through his staff, but even Judy, the secretary, lied about his whereabouts. He was told Wilson was with a patient or already gone or he had been called as a consult. None of that was really true. It wasn't an outright lie, either, but the truth was only a small percentage.  
He had even tried calling his lover for a fake consult, but instead of Wilson one of his senior staff had appeared. House had cursed all day and been in a bad mood for the remaining two clinic hours.

Wilson had become distant, cool, professional, treating him like a colleague, not like a best friend or even lover.

House turned his attention to the second column. Cause.

'Stress at work?' he wrote down and immediately added a no.

Oncology wasn't a walk in the park, but it was hard to put Wilson under that much stress that he would ignore House. His way of venting stress was being with House!

'Stress with ex-wife?'

He gave it a moment, then shook his head. No. Brenda had disappeared after the marriage and until a few months ago, when she had sent a brief note through a lawyer that she was getting married and Wilson didn't need to pay alimony any more, there hadn't been a peep. Not paying alimony was actually a good thing. Wife number two, Eve, was living quite well with some poor sucker in the Bahamas, and Julie had settled with Wilson. No alimony, but she had gotten the house, which she had sold immediately, and no more contact aside from the occasional holiday card.

Not the ex-wives then.

Family? Nah. Rose and Henry Wilson would have been all over this place if something was wrong in that department.

So that left…?

House glared at the board.

Nothing.

He glared more.

There was no reason! None at all!

He had no idea what was going on with his lover and that left him with only one option: talk to the 'patient'.

Turning away from the board he grabbed the cane and set out on his hunt for one wayward oncologist.

* * *

It was a cold evening and it heralded another very cold night, not uncommon for this early in the year. No snow, though, which was good. House had been scouring the hospital for his lover for hours now and wherever he went, Wilson wasn't there. He had already been to the office twice, but no luck, and Wilson didn't answer his beeper. It was on the third attempt that he discovered a light on in the department head's office, so he slipped into his own. He opened the glass door and walked out onto his balcony.

Wilson was looking out over the dark hospital grounds, clad only in his shirt, with his sleeves rolled up, and his suit pants. It was damn cold, House's breath fogging, and he felt goose bumps.

"Been looking for you," he remarked casually. "What are you doing out here?"

No reply.

Wilson was drinking. There was a glass in his hand and a bottle stood on the brick wall. House had never seen him drink whiskey at this time of the day – in the hospital.

Something was wrong. Well, duh, yes. Something was. They hadn't talked in over a week, and neither had Wilson been at his place.

"Listen, I know something happened. Something got you pissed. Whatever it is, can we talk about it inside? I'm freezing my ass off."

"I'm perfectly fine where I am."

"Well, I'm not. My leg's killing me."

A brief smirk, not even a real one. "Your leg's fine."

"Oh, long distance diagnosis, Dr. Wilson? I'm impressed."

"If your leg was affected by the cold, you wouldn't ride a bike," Wilson only said emotionlessly.

"Aw, caught. I knew you were good. Want to work for me? I think I can safely fire Chase on the account of him being an idiot."

Silence greeted his statement; a silence stretching on and on.

Finally, "You hurt people."

House frowned. "Do not!"

"You hurt me."

Blue eyes blinked in confusion, brows drawing down.

"I thought I was different," the oncologist went on tonelessly, still not looking at him. His eyes were on the darkness, one hand holding the glass, the other resting on the brick wall. "I thought you only hurt others. We had our fights, but never like this. You never purposefully hurt me. I was wrong."

"What are you talking about? I didn't hurt you!"

Wilson's expression was sad. "You don't even remember. How typical."

"Jimmy, what are you talking about?"

Wilson emptied the whiskey glass and reached for the bottle, but House grabbed it and held it out of reach.

"You're obviously drunk. You've got no idea what you're talking about. Let's get you home."

Those dark eyes were unreadable as they met his. "I'm perfectly clear on what is going on, House. You seem to be the one who keeps pushing events aside."

"What are you talking about?" House demanded.

Another sad smile. Wilson turned and walked back into his office.

House growled and left the whiskey on the wall, then swung his legs over the partition. He could ride a bike, so getting over this wall wasn't all that terribly difficult.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded as he limped into the office and almost slammed the glass door to the balcony.

Wilson didn't even flinch. "Nothing."

"I take your 'nothing' and raise it by a 'something'! Talk to me! I thought we were friends."

Wilson's eyes were shadowed. "Yes, that's what I thought, too. But apparently my ulterior motive in this relationship that we have is to fuck the cripple. Your differential diagnosis of us, Dr. House. I'm only in for the fun."

Something flickered through House's memory and his eyes narrowed as he tried to catch it. A picture started to form and it was ugly, with an even worse frame.

"Ah, hell, Jimmy… You know I mean only half the things I say."

Wilson shook his head, shoulders having a tired slump. "No, you always say what's on your mind, or the minds of others that they are afraid to say, House. That's the beauty of it. Others always know where they are with you. Like me. For ten years I believed in what we have. For ten years I thought we were best friends."

"We still are," was the quiet reply.

Wilson only shook his head again in silence.

"Why now, Jimmy? It's not the first time we quarreled."

"No, it isn't. But it was the first time it hurt."

House so desperately tried to remember what else he had said and failed. He had been angry, he had swallowed too much Vicodin, and his mind had been busy with his case.

Fuck the cripple…

Shi-it.

He suddenly recalled those words. His words. And he saw the hurt, pained expression of one James Wilson. It was like a dream, a very bad dream. But he hadn't dreamed, he had truly said those words to Wilson's face.

It sounded so much like something he would say… but to Wilson of all people?

"I was angry."

"You usually are," was the toneless reply.

"I had a few bad days."

"When was the last good one you had?"

"Last Tuesday."

Wilson frowned in thought.

"We had dinner, watched Poltergeist 1 to 3…"

"We fucked," came the sighed addition.

"We didn't fuck!" House almost yelled.

Wilson smiled again, so tired, so worn, House felt something inside of him constrict. "According to you, we did. Sure, you didn't get to go all the way, but we had sex. I can't take this any more, Greg."

"So you'll what? Run away? Leave? How very mature of you! I thought you were my ally!"

"I won't run, and I'm still your ally. If you need me as a paranormal, then I will help. But you also hurt me and it hurt so much because I actually do care for you." Wilson ran a hand through his already untidy, longish hair. "You asked and I told you, and you laughed about it. You think I'm in it for the sex, but there are emotions in it for me. I've come very much to… care. And because of that, it hurts when you kick me."

Wilson turned, leaving a stunned Greg House behind.

"I care for you."

House turned the words over and over in his head. Wilson cared and the way he had looked at him… this sadness… this…

House swallowed.

Shit!

His eyes fell on the bottle he had taken from his lover and he cursed more. How much had Wilson had to drink? Was this his first bottle or maybe even the second? Had he polished off some leftovers, some kind of secret stash in his office?

House growled to himself as he limped as fast as he could to the elevator, stabbing the button viciously. It finally came and delivered him to the ground level. He did a good impression of running into the parking lot, something some people would not have believed him capable of. Greg House was a lot more mobile and limber with his bad leg than he let everyone believe. Being the cripple had its advantages. He could get away with so much crap, it was fun to play his handicap to the fullest. He knew he would suffer the consequences for the abuse. The pain would remind him that, no, he wasn't healthy. Yes, he needed to take the strain off his legs, And yes, that was what a cane was actually for.

He arrived to see a car pull out the front gates, the tail lights disappearing, and without another thought he was on his bike and tearing after it.

* * *

Wilson was breaking a lot of rules at the moment, the most glaring one the speed limit. He also wasn't belted in. The car was turning corners way too fast, but he didn't care.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The words ran through his head again and again.

Why had he spilled his heart to House? Why had he let House make him talk? Damn the bastard! Wilson clenched his jaw and fought a tidal wave of emotions.

A glance in the rear view mirror caught his attention as he saw something bright weave along the road at high speed, closing in. What the…

And then it was past him with a roar, almost sliding as it turned ninety degrees and came to an abrupt stop. Wilson slammed the brakes, the motorbike dead center in his glaring headlights, and he managed to get the car to a stop with screeching tires.

There was a moment of shock, his breath coming in sharp pants.

"What the fuck!" he yelled in the confines of the car, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel.

The road was deserted aside from him and the bike rider, and there was no doubt who it was.

"House!" he hissed.

His heart was racing as he struggled out of the car and strode furiously over to the man on the bike. House looked windblown. He wasn't wearing a helmet, or his leather jacket, and there was an almost crazed expression in those blue eyes. He looked white in the bright headlights.

"What the hell were you thinking racing your bike like that?" he demanded, voice rising.

Fear had wormed in as well now. Fear for House. As usual when the man sat on this deathtrap. Wilson didn't like the bike, didn't like to think about what could happen, what could go wrong, even if House was driving responsibly.

"You ran a red light," was the chipper reply.

"I know that! Thank you for pointing out the obvious!"

"You apparently missed it."

"I didn't miss it!"

"Lucky for you that there wasn't a cop anywhere. Might get your license pulled."

Wilson had his hands on his hips again, feeling anger and fear mix with annoyance.

"And while we're at it," House continued conversationally, "what the hell were you thinking? Driving drunk!"

"I'm not drunk. I had one drink!"

"That's one too many! You think I like hearing about you wrapped around a tree?" House growled.

Wilson studied the tall man, blood pressure rising. "As if you would care!"

"I care!"

"You don't! You're a selfish and rude bastard who doesn't care what people feel! You just get on with your miserable life!"

"Of which you used to be a part of!" House shot back.

"Well, get used to the loneliness!"

House limped toward him without the aid of his cane. Wilson briefly thought that his friend would pay dearly for this by tomorrow.

"You think you can just turn away and run?" House demanded.

"I'm not running, House!"

"What is it you're doing? You don't even give me a chance!"

"I gave you all the chances in the world. I was there for you. I was there for you in that fucked up life and all you do is kick me some more! I thought I was different." Wilson stated, his voice so even, it was more scary than if he had yelled..

"You are!"

"Apparently not different enough not to get the sucker punch."

House growled as Wilson turned away and walked toward the car, ready to drive home, to drink himself into oblivion. He was grabbed and pushed against the car door, House towering over him.

"You moron! You utter and complete idiot!"

"Stop it with the pet names, House, and let me go!"

"I haven't even started!"

It was cold, Wilson was tired. The one glass of whiskey wasn't actually affecting him but it had done something to loosen him up, and his nerves were lying open.

"I'm not going to take this any longer," he whispered harshly.

"Jimmy, listen…"

"I'm done listening!"

He tried to free himself without upsetting House's balance. He knew his friend… former friend… whatever he was now… couldn't really keep himself from falling without the cane should he do that.

"Wilson, please!"

"So it's back to that, hm?"

"Oh for the love of god!" House rolled his eyes and before Wilson could react, he was flush against the car and House was kissing him.

In the beginning he tried not to react, but his body shivered with the contact, his hands clawed at the dark gray suit coat without his conscious thought, and finally he moaned into the kiss, opening up. When they separated, House was leaning against him, breathing hard, trembling a little.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. For everything. I'm sorry and I want this to stop," he whispered, voice still harsh but no longer with anger.

"Stop what?" Wilson asked, not letting go.

"Us fighting. I'm not good at that."

"You are," Wilson told him. "That's the problem."

"I'm not fighting with anyone."

"You annoy people."

"Not fighting."

"You antagonize them."

"Still not fighting," House almost sang, the blue eyes sparkling a little.

"You get patients or relatives to deck you!"

"I don't fight back."

"Sure." Disbelief bled into the one word.

Wilson sighed explosively, still trapped against House, still feeling adrenaline pump through his body. It was a good feeling; too good. It was distracting. He absently smoothed his hands over the rumpled coat.

"What now?" he wanted to know.

"Now we go somewhere nice and warm to talk. I'm cold."

Wilson gave a weak chuckle. House had gone after him without a helmet, without a jacket, just his usual suit coat. He could feel the cold seeping into his own body, shivering a little.

"Your place?" he only asked.

House winced at the term 'your' and Wilson knew why. In the last months it had been 'their' home.

"Yours," House finally replied. "I drive."

"I'm not getting on that thing!"

"Who said you should? Push over. You can help me pick up the bike tomorrow."

And with that he moved away, leaving Wilson shivering from where the cold now attacked parts of his body that had been covered by House.

His lover limped back to his bike and pushed it to the side, then grabbed his cane and came back to him. House determinedly slid into the car and started it. Wilson just smiled slightly and took the passenger seat. The bike was left at the roadside. He wondered if the police would come by and pick it up, then forgot about that as House hit the pedal to the metal… and the car shot along the road toward his home.

"What was that about speeding?" he murmured.

"Different case. Now it's me driving."

"Ah. Right."

Nothing more was said.

* * *

Wilson's apartment was smaller than House's, but homey and warm. He had a lot of stuff cluttering the tight space and while House recognized most of it, there were a few pieces that had gone missing with the divorce. No personal items could be seen anywhere, no family photos, nothing that showed who this man was. One room was still full of boxes that needed to be unpacked, but Wilson hadn't had either the time or the drive to do so. House had never asked him about it, but now he wondered.

"Beer?" Wilson offered as he shed his jacket.

"Water," House decided. "And you'd better not mix your alcohol either."

Wilson gave him a brief smile that never reached his eyes. He came back into the living room with two bottles of Evian and handed one to House, who twisted off the cap. The younger man sank into a couch chair, scrubbing a hand over his exhausted features.

Silence reigned between them.

House took a sip of water and finally looked up from where he had contemplated the rug on the floor.

"You said you care about me."

Wilson played with his Evian, not meeting his eyes. "Yeah."

"How much?"

"A lot."

House let that sink into his mind.

"Why?" he only wanted to know.

This wasn't the time for the funny remarks and witty taunts. House could be serious, he could be very empathic, but he could only be that and more if it was vitally important… for him. Or for Wilson. Right now it was important for them both and he recognized his lover's vulnerability. One wrong word and they were going to irreversibly drift apart.

"Do you need a reason?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you are who you are, and I am who I am."

"And who am I?" Wilson asked.

He met the inquisitive brown eyes with a very serious expression that held no teasing, no sarcasm, no cynicism. "You're the good-looking, remarkably charming, boyishly handsome and not to forget famous head of oncology, the Boy Wonder of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You can go wherever you want and get whatever you want. You care, you are so pathetically sympathetic your patients thank you for telling them they are terminal. You got the money, the looks, the reputation and the dedication to reach whatever goal in life you want. You're not shy in the sexual department and if you just smile at them, the women will swoon all over you."

Wilson's eyebrows rose. "Wow… so I'm superman. And that makes you…?"

House evaded his eyes. "You know me, Jimmy."

"I thought I did."

House's hands clenched around the cane. "You're evading the question."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

Wilson released a breath of air in a sigh. "Yeah, maybe."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Will I get an answer before I die?"

Wilson winced.

"Any time today maybe?"

"House…!"

"Jimmy?"

Wilson bit his lower lip, then finally whispered, "Yes, I have feelings for you. Intense feelings. I've had them for a while."

"A while like… weeks?"

"No."

"Months?"

"No."

"Years…?"

"Ever since we first met."

House was stunned into silence. "That was ten years ago!" he finally blurted. "A week before your first wedding!"

Wilson smiled a little. "Yeah, I was there. I remember. Funny, huh?"

There was no humor in the younger man's eyes. House still stared at him, wishing he had something very strong to drink in his hands. He pushed to his feet and went straight for the liquor cabinet, returning with two glasses and the best he could find. He downed the first glass without hesitation.

"Ah, hell," he coughed. It was strong stuff.

"My place exactly," Wilson could be heard.

His head whipped up.

"I'm in hell. I love you, Greg, but you hurt me. If you asked me if I would sleep with you, yeah, I would. I'm not in it to fuck the cripple. I'm in this twisted relationship because I love you."

"We had sex before!" was all House could think of saying.

Wilson laughed sadly. "We had, in a way. But never for real."

"It doesn't get any more real than two men naked in bed!"

"I would give you all if you asked."

House was sure he was going to go out with a coronary right about… now.

"Is this your uncanny way of telling me you want to go the whole way?"

Wilson shrugged.

"Now?"

There was an exasperated sigh. House flailed to think straight, to get his infamous sharp mind wrapped around the problem, but he had always been bad at analyzing himself. He hated self-analysis. It could only end in pain for all parties involved, and he was all parties in that. Right now he knew he was missing the point.

But not for long.

"You love me," he murmured.

Wilson met the blue eyes briefly, then looked away.

"Why?"

"Does it need an explanation?"

The cane bounced angrily onto the floor. "Hell, yes, it does! It can't be my charming personality, as you have pointed out so often before. And if it wasn't you, it was Cuddy. Or Foreman."

Wilson played with the glass. "You're asking how someone can love you? Stacy did."

"Leave her out of it. This is between us."

"I'm only saying…"

"That someone loved me, yes. And she abused my trust, too. On to you, Dr. Wilson. Why do you love this bitter old cripple?" House snapped.

"You're neither of those, Greg."

"I beg to differ." He raised the cane.

"That would be an excuse, not a reason."

"So you want me to accept that you love me just like that? From the generous bottom of your sympathetic heart?"

Wilson just looked at him again and House felt his defenses flare, the stabs growing more personal, and he found himself wincing. He was doing it again. Shit. Automatic defenses were bad for relationships. Wilson had opened up, was completely vulnerable, he had poured out his emotions, and now here they were, at a pivotal point in their relationship, their friendship.

He collected his thoughts, his self, his emotions.

"Jimmy… I… I don't know how to do this," House finally confessed softly. "I don't know if I can ever… if I can make this work."

"And you think I could?" Wilson asked quietly. "I've failed on all fronts in three marriages."

House was silent.

"And I've never really been with a man. I had sex with one, I feel something for one that I never felt for a man before, and it scares me, because that man is my best friend."

More silence.

"And if this fails… I lose more than just a lover. I lose my best friend. I lose everything."

"Jimmy…"

"I'm more scared than ever, Greg."

House was just as scared. He had never thought that Wilson's emotions ran that deep, but he should have. Wilson never went into a relationship half-heartedly. He truly loved. Maybe not each wife with the same intensity or for the same reasons, but he did. House didn't feel like wife number four, but for Wilson to have this relationship… the feelings had to be there.

He had no clue how to act, what to say, what to do.

Wilson didn't do casual when it came to long-term relationships, and theirs had been going strong for almost ten years now. One way or another.

"I know," House finally broke the heavy silence. "So am I." Because he felt the same. "I don't want to lose you, Jimmy. You mean too much to me."

There was a glimmer of hope in that drained face, then he looked away. House rose and limped over to the couch without the aid of his cane and went down on one knee in front of the other man. Wilson's eyes rose fractionally at the movement, but otherwise he didn't show any motion. House placed his hands on Wilson's knees, a light, unconsciously quizzical touch.

"Jimmy, I care," he finally said, voice slightly unsteady. "I care a lot. About you. I want us to be together. Not just as friends."

"Because you care?"

"Yes."

He slipped his hand over Wilson's, curling the fingers around their unresisting counterparts, then squeezing lightly.

Wilson's breath caught.

Their eyes met and held.

"I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry I hurt you. I never meant it."

"I know," was the so very soft reply.

House reached up with his free hand and curled it around Wilson's neck, pulling him carefully and slowly closer until their lips met.

It was a kiss unlike their others. It was deep and gentle, and meaningful and filled with emotions and promises and apologies. It relayed so much more than just their surface emotions. It was from very deep down inside and opened themselves to each other.

When they finally separated, Wilson blinked dazedly, lips swollen, looking flushed.

House licked his lips and watched the brown eyes darken.

"I didn't know you could kiss like that," Wilson finally whispered, sounding breathless.

"Way to go to kill the mood," House growled, still down on one knee.

Wilson chuckled a little.

"Not that I had planned on much seducing tonight," House went on.

"No?"

"No." He was suddenly serious again. "I care too much about you, Jimmy. Too much to not take this seriously."

Wilson leaned forward and kissed him again, softer, but still with the same emotions. House rose using Wilson's knees as leverage. Taking Wilson's hand he tugged a little and his lover took the hint. He rose as well and tilted his head.

"What?" House wanted to know.

"For not planning to seduce me, you're quite determined to do it anyway," James remarked.

House snorted and limped toward the bedroom, still holding on to Wilson and pulling him along. His cane lay forgotten and if he paced himself, his leg wouldn't give him too much trouble.

"Come on, you," he muttered.  
   
 

They did end up in bed together, but that was about it. Sharing mattress space, House let his hands trail over the familiar form of his lover without trying to arouse him. Wilson was too tired for anything anyway. His eyes had slid shut immediately after they had slid together and he was unconsciously seeking closeness without trying to be too obvious about it.

House smiled dimly as his fingers carded into the brown hair. Wilson made a soft noise of content and the arm he had thrown over House's waist tightened his hold. House's smile grew wider.

He cared about James Wilson. A lot. Too much to jinx this by saying it out loud.

* * *

For all the inactivity of the night, the morning was a totally different story. He woke up to the sensation of something warm beside him – and under him - something gently stroking his back, and he stretched into the touch.

“So you do purr in the morning,” a sleep-hoarse voice whispered in his ear, and Wilson blinked lazily in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, memory slowly returning.

“House?”

“I do hope so. Who else do you sleep with?”

“I take it that question is rhetorical.”

“Not at all. Jealous bastard here.”

Wilson didn’t have time to answer that because of the pair of lips that descended onto his own. Being rolled onto his back, the weight of his lover effectively pinning him down, all he could do was surrender to the sweet sensation. And sweet it was – until last night Wilson had had no idea that House could kiss like that. It literally took his breath away, making his head swim and his body tingle most pleasurably.

Hands were wandering over his body, making him forget about anything but what this man was doing to him. Breaking the kiss to fill his lungs with some much-needed oxygen, Wilson sighed softly when House’s finger brushed over a hot spot, the sigh turning into a gasp as his neck was gently nibbled at.

“Someone’s horny…“

“Mm-hm.” A knee pushed between his thighs and Wilson jerked with the sensation. “And it’s not me.”

House was watching him intensely, still caressing him. He cared for this man. A lot. More than he had wanted to admit to, but it had inevitably come out. House claimed a kiss again, then began to trail more kisses over his throat, his collar bone, until he arrived at a nipple. Wilson moaned in appreciation. The stubble scraping over the sensitive nub only increased the sensation.

House finally reached what he had been aiming for and was settling between Wilson's legs, running his hands over the soft, sensitive skin of his lover's inner thighs when he spread them even further in a silent invitation. Wilson arched into the touch of the stroking hands and the hot wet mouth, groaning with the initial sensation of friction and the moist caress of a tongue. So good. He had missed this.

This time House didn't stop at simple oral pleasure. His finger tips were running over the sensitive skin of Wilson's scrotum and then even further, teasing an equally sensitive area.

"Like that, hm?" House murmured, almost to himself.

Wilson was too busy not losing himself in that sensation to reply.

His lover slid up his body again. Wilson spread his legs, feeling the other man slide between them and arched involuntarily into the full body contact. House sucked in a breath.

"Jimmy?" House's voice was even rougher than usual.

Wilson looked into the sky blue eyes, clouded with desire. A desire for him, just for him.

“Make love to me. Now.”

House blinked. “I wouldn’t ask this of you.”

“I know. I want you.”

There was a long second of silence, the blue eyes searching his, looking for something. Wilson had no idea what it could be.

“Are you sure?”

“Hell, yes.” Wilson pulled his lover into a deep kiss. “Does that answer it?”

"Have you done this before?" House wanted to know without answering his question.

"No," was the soft reply.

House regarded him thoughtfully.

"Greg, please! I want this! I've wanted this for a very long time!"

Hands stroked over his body, calming him, arousing him, doing so many things in such a short time.

And then those hands were further down south, doing more wonderful things.

"Jimmy?"

"Yes, goddamnit!" he ground out.

There was a gentle chuckle and he was kissed, talented lips nibbling at his jaw line, trailing to his pulse point while House was still stroking, caressing and teasing.  
   
 

House worked himself down Wilson’s body once more, noticing every hitch in his lover’s breathing. Wilson spread his legs, gaining him better access and he happily took advantage of that. Wilson wasn’t a very vocal man except for the occasional gasp but he gave other signs, and House wanted to learn each and every one of them. Like the way the younger man clenched his fists into the sheets when he very slowly took him into his mouth, for example. Or how his body arched when he started to work his tongue around it, or his lips, or … having his lover effectively distracted he carefully slid his lubed fingers deeper, caressing and teasing a little, noticing how Wilson’s breath hitched once again.

Not so distracted, though, hm?

“… yes …"

It wasn’t much more than a whisper but he stopped nevertheless, looking into his lover’s dark eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

“Then relax.”

House carefully pushed.

Wilson hissed and he paused for a second, returning his attention to distracting his lover again while slowly searching for that special spot, the gland whose stimulation would cause…

“Oh god… Greg!”

…precisely this reaction.  
   
 

Wilson could have screamed when his lover applied just a little more pressure against the resistance of a tight muscle, and then - god, Greg, yes - he almost whimpered when said finger slowly slid into his body. He fell back against the mattress, legs wide open, wanting, needing, demanding more. House seemed to know exactly when to push and when to wait. And then his lover brushed over the hidden spot that turned his spine into molten lava, his wild bucking and a harsh cry a dead giveaway for his feelings.

Heaven.

Wilson squeezed his eyes shut, panting harder. So good, so good, so good….

When the long fingers moved out of him, he made a little sound of protest. He opened his eyes to look into the warm eyes of his lover. There was no sign of smugness, of triumph, of 'I told you I'm good'. There was only that emotion that wiped out all the bitterness, an emotion House never let others see. He never showed his softer side if he could help it.

Wilson reached up and cupped the scruffy face. "I want you, Greg," he said softly.

"We both know the anatomy involved," was the reply. "And it will hurt."

"I still want you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. For the tenth time in a minute, yes, Greg. I want to sleep with you. Why are you so insistent?"

House's eyes darkened and for a moment there was a faraway expression. "Let's just say that if you go about this wrong, it can be rather… uncomfortable and sometimes even painful for the bottom."

"Greg?" Wilson blinked at the minute hesitation he thought he had heard in his lover’s tone. "You were…?"

Something flickered through those blue eyes, something entirely unreadable.

“Once. I didn't relish the experience."

The shock doubled. What?! “Wait … you? When … ?”

“A long time ago. It was good, at least for him. I think. Water under the bridge, Jimmy." House's fingers absent-mindedly played over Wilson's cheek and along the temple into the hair.

"You bottomed?" Wilson echoed.

"Yeah. Strange, huh?"

"Not really." Wilson grabbed the wandering hand. "I want you, Greg."

"You got me."

Wilson smiled. "Yeah, I got you."

House took him into a long kiss once more, pouring everything into the contact and Wilson pushed up against him, wanting more.

"Impatient," was the older man's reply. "Greedy. I like it. Condom?"

Wilson's brain tried to understand what the other man wanted and reached for the nightstand where he kept a few supplies.

His lover coaxed him to roll onto his side. He shot him a confused look.

"It'll be easier," House murmured, drawing long caresses over his flanks. "Trust me."

He did. Implicitly.

Wilson felt strong arms wrap around his waist and a hot breath on his neck when House finally slid into him, carefully and gently as not to hurt him in any way. It was painful, uncomfortable, too much too soon, but he refused to cry out. House was murmuring to him, the deep voice soothing him more than anything, and after what seemed like an eternity he finally started to get past the sensation of being filled and stretched past what seemed humanly possible.

House settled against him, deeply sheathed, and he rested his head against one shoulder, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts.  
   
 

House carefully pushed inside Wilson’s body, having to hold his own breath at the exquisite feeling of a velvety tight heat welcoming him, at the wonder of seeing Wilson’s brown eyes going wide then squeezing shut, his expression speaking of pleasure, his breath coming in short gasps as he opened up under him until there was nothing left between them, all guards down, all restrictions gone.

“…god, Greg …“

“You okay?”

“Damnit, Greg, what does it look like to you? Stop killing me here … move!“

“This is your first time. We should take it slow …“

“It’s yours, too. Slow is okay, but not that slow.”

Wilson’s hips jerked when he started to move, and he moaned wonderfully when he aimed for that spot again and again.

There was a brief sting in his forearm where Wilson’s fingers clawed, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the man underneath him, the feelings and sensations that making love to Wilson evoked and the way that slender body became rigid and arched against him eventually as Wilson reached the point of no return, the deep moan of completion swallowed by his lips.  
   
 

His world seemed to white out for a moment, then shrank down to one single point of existence where it was just him and House, joined together, and he sobbed hoarsely. House followed him over the edge only seconds later, shuddering and tightening his hold of his lover, a muffled groan escaping his lips.

Wilson heard his hammering heartbeat, the blood rushing through his ears, and he felt House's body blanketing his, harsh breathing caressing his slick skin. The taller man was still deeply seated in him and he enjoyed the sensation. When his lover pulled out, he moaned softly.

"Jimmy?"

"I'm fine," he answered the unspoken question. "More than fine." Wilson gave the older man a lazy, satisfied grin, then pulled him down into a kiss.

House tenderly kissed him back, soothingly stroking over his sweaty skin. Wilson felt pleasantly exhausted and despite the knowledge that he would be damned sore, already felt sore, he couldn't think of anything better than this moment. They rolled into a loose embrace.

"House," he murmured after a moment.

"Hm?"

"We need to get to work."

"Hn!"

"We'll be late."

"So?"

Wilson tried to rouse himself out of the post-sex-bliss and drowsiness. "So?!" he echoed.

"I'm here on official business."

"What?!"

House smirked as he played with a few sticky strands of sweaty hair on Wilson's forehead. "Cuddy told me to fix this thing between us."

Wilson rolled over and stared at him. "She what?"

"She quite openly ordered me to even." There was a wolfish smile in his tone now.

"Cuddy? She has no idea… or has she?"

"I didn't tell her. Did you?" came the innocent reply.

"No!"

"Okay then."

Wilson groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing them. "Great. Everyone probably knows."

"Not from me."

"You think I go telling everyone on my staff that we sleep together?!"

House just grinned.

"I'm not!"

That was the moment Wilson's cell phone rang. Before he could react, his body still trying to coordinate moving and thinking, House had grabbed it. Damn, the man was quick if he wanted to be.

"Hello!" he sang into the phone. "Well, good morning, Dr. Cuddy. And such a fine morning it is. … No, I haven't taken my Vicodin and I'm not on something different either. How stupid do you think I am? Wait, don't answer that. I'm in too good a mood."

Wilson rolled his eyes, swallowing his instinctive protest that House was answering a call meant for him.

"Yes, Dr. Wilson is here."

Wilson reached for the phone but House rolled to the side, grinning smugly.

"Yes, I'm here, too. How else could I have answered his phone? Do the math, Cuddy."

"House!" Wilson hissed softly.

"I'm just doing what you told me. I'm fixing things."

Wilson groaned.

"Yes, I think I fixed it." House waggled his eyebrows at his lover. "Pretty good, too."

The oncologist threw an arm over his eyes, resigned to the fact that Greg House would never change.

"We'll be in, Cuddy, don't worry. Maybe even before noon."

Wilson glanced at the bedside clock. It was already ten. It would be close.

"See ya!" And with that House tossed the phone over to the pile of clothes. He grinned at Wilson.

"You just more or less told Cuddy we slept together!"

"You think she got that much?" House asked innocently.

"House!"

"Well, I doubt it. Now where were we…?"

Wilson moved away from the leer and the quick hands, frowning. "You said we'll be in before noon."

"I didn't tell her today or tomorrow or even this week."

Wilson sighed and sat up. "You might not have a reputation to lose, but I have!"

"Spoil-sport!" House called good-naturedly as Wilson made it out of bed and into the shower.  
   
 

Gregory House learned a lot this very morning, about himself and about his lover. And not only that James Wilson, usually not a very vocal lover, could make very interesting sounds when he was brought to climax.

He learned that he very easily could get used to wanting to hear those sounds for the rest of his natural life.

And that scared him.

* * *

House whistled as he limped into the meeting room and three pairs of eyes turned to look at him with varying degrees of astonishment and curiosity.

"You're late," Foreman remarked.

House's reply was a chipper, "And a good morning to you, too!"

"It's past one p.m."

"Time is a matter of perception."

"And your time here is never perceived well."

House smiled more, eyes sparkling with his good mood. "Okay, children, what do we have on this fine day?"

"Uhm, nothing," Cameron answered.

"Nothing? No case? Then why are you all here?"

"We work here?" Chase asked, confused.

"On nothing?"

Cameron frowned more. "Are you okay? You're quite… happy this morning."

House twirled his cane once and set it down with a mild thump. "Yes, I'm absolutely perfect. Nothing against a little happiness. You might wanna try it out sometimes. So, with nothing to do, lunch might be a good idea. Bye-bye." And with that he was out of the room and heading for the cafeteria.

*

They hadn't really made it on time, but one p.m. was better than not at all and Wilson wondered if the shower would ever be the same again. He knew he was running around with a smile that cried 'good time', but aside from knowing looks, the staff didn't say anything. They were simply relieved that things were apparently back to normal.

Until he ran into Robin, head nurse of oncology, and she took one look at him, smiling widely.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson," she greeted him cheerfully.

"Hello, Robin."

Her eyes rested on a spot at his neck and she smirked a little, then handed over a bunch of files. Wilson shifted uneasily, trying to suppress the need to reach toward his neck and adjust his shirt. He knew what she was looking at and he was cursing House for leaving it there.

"I'm so happy for you," Robin said out of the blue, startling him.

"What?"

She smiled more. "You and Dr. House fixed things. That's good." And with that she was gone, heading for the nurses' station.

Wilson stood rooted to the spot, stunned speechless, then he just fled the hallway and into his office, totally confused.

*

Speculations went up and down the grapevine from that hour on. There was hardly a nurse who wasn't secretly looking at Wilson, but now for different motives. The head of oncology had been coffee break gossip material for almost every unmarried nurse, some of the married ones, too, and there hadn't really been a difference in gender. Male or female, they liked what they saw, and Wilson had flirted with his share of hopeful, good-looking women who had wanted more than a friendly smile. Now he apparently had been taken off the market and while some mourned the loss, others were quite interested in whether or not it was true that Dr. Gregory House was the lucky bastard. There was no argument about the bastard part anyway.

Wilson spent most of the day on his feet, not sitting down much due to soreness in a certain region. Still he felt happy. It was a good soreness, one that reminded him of this morning and made him smile out of the blue sometimes. Some of his male colleagues shot him hard to interpret looks, others ignored him, but Wilson couldn't care less about them. There was nothing in hospital politics that forbade the relationship between colleagues, though doctor-nurse relationships in the same department, especially with a superior, was frowned upon and discouraged. Wilson working in a different area, holding the same position as House actually, and the fact that this was House they were speculating about made things wholly different.

The good mood was reduced to annoyance when he walked into the cafeteria. Nurses and other staff glanced at him, giving him a once over, some even staring, and he rolled his eyes.

Great.

And as if House had smelled it, he came in not two minutes later, smiling as he discovered Wilson. It was that wolfish smile of someone about to get free food.

"Don't you ever pay for your stuff?" Wilson sighed, knowing the answer.

House just ripped open the chips bag and eyed Wilson's steak and salad. "As long as I find some sucker to do it for me…?"

Another eye-roll.

They ate in companionable silence. Wilson was quite aware of the hidden looks and while part of him was annoyed, another was amused. He and House had spent eight years working here together, always hanging around the other, and now, wham, they were suddenly the focus of everyone's attention.

"So, got anything planned for tonight?" House asked conversationally as he popped another chip into his mouth.

"No."

"Dinner?"

"Your place?"

"Mhm."

"I'll bring the beer."

"Chinese?"

"Whatever."

House grinned. "You're so easy."

Wilson chuckled and took a sip from his Coke. House got up, crumbling up the chips bag and dumping it on Wilson's tray.

"Time?" the oncologist wanted to know.

"Eight."

"Okay."

With that, House was gone. Wilson didn't stay much after that, cleaning his plate and putting the tray away. He was aware of many eyes watching him, but he refused to fall into the trap of actually acknowledging anything.

*

Around late afternoon he walked into the conference room, cup of coffee in hand, just curious what the current case was. He had heard about it and it sounded like something he would consult on, too. He leaned against the wall, listening to the medical terms flying back and forth, to the arguments and snide remarks House aimed at his team. He could sympathize, but sometimes all three had it coming. After almost two years, in Chase's case even longer, they were still running into the trap House set so openly and deliberately.

Watching his lover, Wilson smiled to himself. House was in his element. His eyes sparkled, his whole demeanor was that of a predator, and the three other doctors were rather easy prey. Finally they were all set on one reason the patient was throwing up and unable to keep anything down, after they had just cured him from strange nodules on his skin, and House smirked at Wilson.

"Anything you want to add, Dr. Wilson?" he asked.

"Medically? No."

The three juniors glanced askance at him, and aside from Foreman, who only frowned, they looked a bit puzzled.

"You've got a non-medical opinion?" House wanted to know, leaning on his cane.

Wilson pushed away from his place, feeling strangely daring. Maybe it was because he was angry over the attention they were getting or slightly embarrassed by the hickey House had so deliberately left. Maybe it was because he wanted to fluster House as badly as the man sometimes flustered him.

"Not on the patient, no. But I think we should discuss that in private tonight."

Nothing in those words was really tell-tale. It was normal conversation between two friends.

"Over dinner," Wilson added. "And dessert."

"Hm, we are talking about a medical problem then," House smirked again.

Their eyes met and it was as if Wilson had grabbed him around the neck and kissed him. Over the distance of a good two feet, actually. Wilson felt something curl and heat up inside his stomach, something else stirring a little bit further down, and he fought down the real need to do what he was thinking about – kiss House silly in front of the three juniors.

"Don't be late tonight."

"I'm never late for personal appointments."

Wilson turned, not fleeing, but also not walking out slowly. Everything seemed to tingle and he called himself a fool. He wasn't a teenager any more and he had lived with the attraction he felt toward House for close to a decade. Now that they were actually involved it was like a constant burn.

A good burn.

*

House turned to his team and found them looking at him with varying expressions. Foreman just raised his eyebrows, though there was something in those dark eyes that didn't look very happy. Whatever. House's goal in life wasn't making Dr. Eric Foreman happy. Chase had blushed a little, but otherwise he wasn't fainting like House had suspected the Australian would. Cameron apparently didn't know what to say, and House shot her a smug smile.

"You're still here," he broke the silence between them.

"Uh…" Chase started.

"MRI, blood, urine, sweat, guts, work!" House snapped and they hurried out, Cameron shooting him another look.

House ignored her and limped over to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. The look in Wilson's eyes, the sheer promise, was still tingling through him and while it had been shocking to find his lover so open in front of the others, it also opened up a whole new set of possibilities. He grinned to himself.

Oh, this would be fun.

* * *

"Can you believe this?" Chase exclaimed, laughing. "Wilson and House? How crazy is that?"

Cameron clutched the file to her chest, still trying to deal with the fact that Greg House had just flirted with someone else; another man, actually. Wilson of all people! It wasn't as weird as it felt, really. And she wasn't disgusted or jealous, or disappointed. She had worked through her disappointment the last months and had been able to look into those blue eyes and not try to reach out to soothe the pain she saw there for just as long.

Foreman glowered at Chase and Cameron drew herself out of her thoughts, slightly disturbed by Foreman's reaction.

"What I can't believe is them having to do it here!" the neurologist muttered.

Chase exchanged brief glances with Cameron, then mirrored her frown.

"I mean, if he has to flaunt his preferences, there are places for that!"

"Gay clubs? Scene bars?" Chase listed quietly.

"Exactly!"

Foreman came to a stop and turned to face two rather surprised looking colleagues.

"What?"

"Are you in any way homophobic?" Cameron asked outright.

"What?! All I said was that there's a place for this and it isn't here! I don't care who or what he fucks as long as he doesn't bring it to work."

Chase's expression darkened, but it was Cameron who was faster.

"Dr. Wilson is not an 'it' and what they do in their time is none of our business."

Foreman looked disgusted. "It's what I said. This," he gestured back toward the conference room, "wasn't private, nor was it off time. He made a pass at him!"

"Dr. Ignacio flirted with Nurse Wagner yesterday. You didn't make a fuss."

"That's normal."

"Which brings us back to the homophobia," Chase said firmly.

"I'm not homophobic! I have no problem with gay people."

"As long as they don't openly show their affections?" Cameron added.

Foreman growled to himself. "All I'm saying is that House has never been in any way professional. This just adds one more point to the list."

"What are you going for, Foreman?" Chase demanded. "You want him out? Well, good luck. Others tried before you. Vogler tried!"

"And he was protected. Others took the fall. Wilson took the fall!"

"Hasn't apparently stopped them," the Australian added with a grin.

Foreman's expression only darkened more. "You think the board wants a gay doctor? Even House can't cling to his chair with that coming down on him."

Cameron looked outraged and her hands were on her hips as she suddenly got into Foreman's face.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

He met her eyes with a level expression. "I'm only saying that this isn't good for the hospital."

"You are not good for the hospital," she hissed. "You're a disgrace. A homophobic disgrace. If he goes down, so will you. House is the best diagnostician and he is recognized as such. You want his place? You tried already, Foreman, and you lost. If you want change, then do it yourself. Go away. Leave this hospital. I'm not going to stand by and watch you destroy something good."

"You're calling this good?"

"I think whatever makes House happy is good. Good for him, good for us, good for this hospital."

She turned, coat flapping, storming away to work on the tasks House had given them.

Chase remained a moment longer and looked at Foreman, his expression sad. He finally just shook his head and left.

Foreman snorted, glaring at nothing, then walked in the opposite direction.

* * *

The weekend came two days later and it was the most amazing one House had spent in years. More than six years, actually. Wilson stayed at his place the whole time and they had that time to love each other, to cuddle, to talk. A lot of talking was done, as well as a lot of cuddling. Wilson loved to just stay close, body relaxed, breathing even, and House found he didn't care what this made him. Holding the man he had nearly lost twice now was intoxicating.

A lot could be said about Greg House, but he was emotional and warm and tender if he wanted to be, and with Wilson he really wanted that. Stacy had been the last person to see him like this, to discover the gentler side, the human being not afraid to be more open. After the infarction that part had been starved almost to nil.

Their conversations happened between great sex. Intimate sex, even. They hadn't gone back to a quick blowjob. They had explored what their first time had shown both men. Wilson wanted to repeat the experience and House had been just too happy to be part of it.

"Never took you for such a cuddler," House murmured and ran his fingers through the mussed up hair.

"Not hearing you complain," was the drowsy reply.

"Not complaining."

"Good."

House smiled and pressed a kiss to the exposed neck, watching goose bumps rise. Not far from the place of the kiss was the healing bruise the hickey had left.

Wilson mumbled something that sounded like a warning and protest against another hickey, but House planned to leave a little love bite somewhere else this weekend. Maybe even more. Let Wilson explain those marks to whoever foolishly asked.

It felt good to be together like this. He had been alone for so long after Stacy, House had forgotten how having another warm and pliant body in bed with him made him feel. He wasn't a loner by nature, more by choice. Even if it hadn't been his choice most of the time. Sure, it had been him biting at whatever hand stretched out toward him, but it had been an instinctive, protective reaction.

You never shied away, he thought. You let yourself get bitten. Masochist.

He gently suckled and nibbled a way up to the inviting lips and Wilson opened up, kissing him back as deeply and with as much emotion as House poured into this kiss.

So many people would pass out in a dead faint if they ever saw this tender side of him. He slid more firmly onto the strong body underneath him, one leg moving against Wilson's semi-hard arousal, his own brushing deliciously over the thigh he was lying on.

"Insatiable," Wilson murmured, arms around his neck with no intention to let him go.

"That's me. Can't get enough of the free all-you-can-eat buffet."

House trailed a hand down one side and smiled at the squirming that evoked. Especially when he coaxed Wilson to bend one leg to reach the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Wilson even let the leg fall open more.

"Speaking of insatiable…" House teased.

"You're bad, Greg."

"Hm, I hope so. The big, the bad and the cripple, all rolled in one smooth little package."

James cupped the back of his head and drew him into another kiss. "You're not a cripple," he whispered, voice slightly harsher than before. "You're handicapped, but not crippled!"

"'Cause I can still give you a raging hard on and make you scream my name in bed?"

Brown eyes narrowed in briefly flaring anger. "Greg…!"

He smirked a little. "What would you call my leg then?"

"A scar on your soul."

He drew slightly back, surprised by the serious note. "My, how poetic," House teased, trying to cover his ripple of emotions.

"It's not poetic. It's the truth. You carry a scar and it handicaps you, but it never crippled you, Greg." Wilson grinned a little, eyes sparkling all of a sudden. "You're quite limber in bed, you know."

"Hm, yes, I got something worth moving for."

It got him a chuckle and House used the distraction to shift so his hand had free access to his prize. Wilson's eyes closed and he moaned his appreciation.

"Oh yeah, you like that. Want me to make you feel good?"

"You make me feel sore," was the moaned reply.

"But it's a good sore. You like the sore. You crave the sore," House purred, voice deep and filled with a leer, with a hunger, with a promise.

Wilson was breathing harder as he manipulated him expertly. "I like you," was the rough reply.

"You do," House agreed, hand moving with more determination. Then he suddenly stopped and Wilson gave a whine of protest. "And I'm going to show you just how much that feeling is reciprocated," came the dark promise.  
   
 

House looked at his sleeping lover, worn out and looking very satisfied. It seemed like they were trying to catch up with the missed years in just a few days, but Wilson wasn't complaining, and neither was House. The feelings were wonderful. He hadn't felt like this since the disability.

And a different set of feelings was growing stronger and stronger, jumpstarted by so much positive change in his life, coaxed out of hiding by the open way his lover received him.

I love you, he thought, startled by his own openness.

He had yet to actually voice that emotion, but he made sure Wilson felt it when they were together, or even when they just interacted at work.

Closing his eyes, he lay down beside the other man and smiled a little. He had taken his Vicodin, one pill only, and it was strange how endorphins reduced the need.

Huh, if we could keep up the all-day-long-sex routine, I might just make it through withdrawal, he mused and smirked at his own idea.

Yeah right, as if.

But the sex idea was good anyway.

* * *

The moment Foreman walked into Cuddy's office, she knew something bad was coming her way. His expression was the same as every time he was about to complain about House and his behavior. The last time he had looked like this was after the four week supervisor trial when she had told him that in no way would she ever replace House with Foreman. Not in her lifetime anyway.

Cuddy knew what she had with House; she had known it before she had hired the man. His reputation was incredible. He really was that good, and he knew it. He was, in his own way, a genius and he had the quirks of one, but his people skills were quite abrasive and had always been. After the infarction they had become worse, but she couldn't fault him for it. What she could fault him for was his stubbornness to accept rehab or any kind of help when it came to pain management.

As for Foreman, he had come onto the team last and he had always been on a more confrontational course with House than the others. His complaints had started in the first three days and she had tried to run interference. Thankfully the first case had convinced him that Greg House wasn't just rudeness in a scruffy shell. His mind was fast and worked in unusual ways.

But the confrontations had continued. House had an eye and a nose for weak spots in another person and he used that knowledge. He was also painfully truthful sometimes. Foreman easily took offense when House once again used his long-gone past to make him do something, but the result was usually something that saved a patient's life.

"We need to talk," Foreman now said.

Cuddy gave him what she hoped was a friendly look as he sat down.

"It's about House," the neurologist added.

Ah, yes, what else? Always House. It was never anything else.

"What is it this time?" Cuddy only wanted to know.

"He and Wilson sleep together."

For a moment Lisa Cuddy was actually speechless. Not because of what Foreman had said, but that he had actually said it to her. She was House's boss and if she took offense at that little fact, she could have him out on his ass. Well, not really, but… the guts!

"And you're telling me that why?" she asked pleasantly.

Foreman's face was clouded by a dark shadow of slowly rising anger. "Because they openly flaunt their… relationship… and it has no place in the hospital!"

"Dr. Foreman, do you really want me to go around and scold people for sleeping with each other? We're not in school, I'm not the teacher, and I'm also not the chaperone. I think Dr. Wilson and Dr. House are old enough to…"

"That's not it!" Foreman interrupted. "Don't you see that he keeps taking more and more liberties? With patients, with relatives, with the abuse he deals out?"

"I'm not clear what you're going at," she only said. "You want to accuse him of abusing Dr. Wilson?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"He takes his… his… so-called relationships with him to work! Next thing I know you have to be afraid to open a broom closet or an exam room because you might find them in there having sex!"

Cuddy didn't know whether to laugh or to yell. "You actually believe what you're saying?"  
Foreman jumped up, clearly agitated. "This has no place here!"

"This… as in… 'a gay relationship'?"

"Yes! No… I mean…"

"Are you in any way homophobic, Dr. Foreman?"

"No!"

"I know you and Dr. House have different opinions on almost everything…."

"This is not about different opinions! This is about two men in a public place in a teaching hospital!"

Cuddy rose slowly and leaned her hands on the desk. "So you object to the gayness of it, compared to a man and a woman showing their affections? Do you know just what you're inviting into your front yard with that?"

Foreman was angrily looking at her. "Why are you protecting him? He's the most abusive son-of-a-bitch ever to call himself a doctor! He's rude, he abrades people, and his political skills for this hospital nearly ruined us all once before!"

She knew what he was referring to. Vogler. Well, it wouldn't have touched Foreman, that rather big incident. She had lost a whomping big donation of one hundred million dollars because she had stood by her employee. Whether or not House was worth that much money, she wouldn't give it too much thought. It had also been an ethical problem. Dr. Lisa Cuddy was a lot of things, but she wasn't corruptible. She wouldn't leave a friend and colleague out to dry.

"I'm not protecting him," she now said firmly, voice colder.

"You're also not protecting this hospital! This will kill us all!"

"You want me to fire him on the basis of being in a same-sex relationship?"

"Yes!"

"Are you even listening to yourself, Foreman?" she asked, voice rising in volume. "Even if I would stoop that low and fire someone, anyone, for his sexual preference, he could sue our asses off for it! He could get every last penny from this place and I'd happily give it to him for this hypocrisy!"

Foreman stared at her as if she were an alien life form.

"Foreman, whatever it is you have against such relationships, leave it at home. Better yet, don't even bring it up outside the hospital. We're in the twenty-first century and homosexuality is not some kind of taboo topic."

"You will let them go on like that?" he asked in disbelief.

"Like I said, I'm not their mother. House isn't Wilson's boss, nor is it the other way around. I see no reason for claiming harassment or black-mail. Foreman," she lowered her voice, appealing more, "they've known each other for ten years. I've known them for almost as long. This had been a long time coming and I'm happy to see it finally coming to life. James Wilson is the only steady thing in House's life, the only one who has a measure of influence on him, someone he listens to. He can't just walk over him or throw him aside."

"You want a keeper for him? Is that it?"

"No, I want him to finally enjoy life!"

"By fucking another man?"

Cuddy straightened, her face icy. "Would you rather have him fuck another woman? Cameron maybe? Me? Because I've to tell you, Dr. Foreman, even if that were the case, it wouldn't change him in any way."

He paced a few steps, then stopped, body rigid.

"In case you're wondering, I would accept your resignation," Cuddy added, voice still cool and very much without any regret.

"You would lose me over him?"

"Yes."

It was that simple. House was unique and she knew she needed him as badly as he needed her. Other hospital directors would shy away from the challenge of hiring him, handling him, controlling him. She had begun to enjoy it.

Foreman only turned and left her office without another word. Cuddy sank into her chair, a worried frown on her forehead. Legally, there was nothing Foreman could do. Going against House for his sexuality would only pull him down in turn. He would be seen as a traitor, as a black sheep, and House would probably sue the PPTH just for the fun of it. It would most likely destroy his career in turn, but knowing House, he would find an obscure clinic that would have him. Then again, maybe not too obscure. He was known world-wide and there hospitals that wanted him.

If they only knew, Cuddy thought with a smirk. Having House around will probably drive some of them into an early stroke.

For now she had to keep an eye on Foreman, and of course on Wilson and House. Cuddy picked up the phone and paged Cameron.

* * *

"You think he'll really make something out of it?" Cameron asked.

She and Chase were sitting in the empty meeting room, drinking coffee, discussing their case. Foreman was on clinic duty and House was… somewhere.

Chase frowned, a slightly worried expression on his face. "I'm not sure. What would it get him? Nothing. Cuddy won't let him take over Diagnostics, and she can't fire House."

"She won't fire House," Cameron corrected him. "And I won't let Foreman destroy this."

"This?" Chase laughed a little. "You mean his abrasive style of leading a team? His personal stabs and jabs? His unerring way how to inflict the maximum amount of damage with a few words?"  
Cameron gave him a grimace. "He protected you, Chase. He took your fall. He protects us all because he's our boss and our mistakes reflect on him. He could have sacked you…"

"… but he sacked you instead…"

"That was different. And it was because of Vogler."

"Because he couldn't jump over his own shadow," the Australian argued.

"He doesn't lie," Cameron insisted. "He wouldn't lie to those people and he said what was on everyone's mind!"

"It cost this place a hundred million."

She quietly stirred her coffee. "Maybe. But that was Cuddy's call, and I think she made the right one. Vogler was about to change a hospital into some kind of money-making machine that no longer treated patients but sold its soul to the big companies for trial runs of their medication. We were going to be a test lab!"

"One hundred million, Cameron," Chase repeated.

"You can't value a doctor's worth in money."

"You can. It's what's on our pay-checks."

She rolled her eyes. "So you want her to fire him? Because he's gay?"

"The word is bi," a voice startled the two doctors and Cameron looked up guiltily, right into the smirk on House's lips.

"Bi as in 'enjoys both sides of the fence'," the older man continued. "Men, women, basically just the same. Add a few things here, leave some off somewhere else, who cares? It all comes down to very satisfying physical pleasure, right?"

Cameron felt her brain start to put Wilson and House together, naked, in bed, and something ran through her. And she had trouble getting rid of the image. Not that she had seen either man naked ever before, but imagination was the key to a lot of things.

"So, what's our patient doing? And where's Foreman?"

"Clinic duty," Chase told him.

"Right. So, the patient? Still there and breathing?"

And they were into the symptoms and the diagnosis again. Cameron watched her boss as he limped around the room, worked with the whiteboard or just twirled the cane once or twice. He wasn't any different than before. If not for the moment of open affection, of love, she wouldn't have seen anything between the two men. They were best friends and had hung around each other ever since she had started here over two years ago.

Who was on top? her mind asked. What would it be like if they kissed? Who was the aggressive one? Who was the possessive kisser? Or was it gentle and slow and deep? Was Wilson was topping…? Oh, my… now there was a picture. Or was House the top? It was easier to picture, but anything she saw in her mind was quite… well… erotic. She could just see those strong hands gliding over naked skin and…

"Any deeper thoughts, Dr. Cameron?"

She startled out of her thoughts, finding House shooting her a smug look that told her he knew exactly where she had been with her thoughts.

"Uhm," she rallied to switch gears in her mind, get back on the track with the sick patient. "Fibromyalgia?"

Chase gave her a look of 'you gotta be kiddin' me!' and she knew she could have thought of something better to cover her lack of attention for the ten seconds it had taken.

"Good one. We'll put it down for our next patient as a possible source of problems," House quipped. "Fibromyalgia always works in a pinch."

Cameron sighed and went back to the notes, trying to ignore the snicker from her boss. It wasn't a very loud one, it probably wasn't even audibly there, but she had heard it.

"Now, Dr. Cameron, if you don't mind, could you please put my clothes back onto me and go have a look at Mr. Smith or whatever his name is. You know, the guy suffering from unexplained fevers and shocks."  
Cameron blushed a scarlet red and Chase tried to stifle a laugh.

As she left the conference room, her resolution was there. Whatever he said or did, or didn't say and didn't do, she wouldn't desert him. Never. Cameron was loyal and even House couldn't upset that dedication. She knew what she was getting into. Two years of working with the man had shown her who and what he was, but even now, she believed there was a different person underneath that bitter, rude and sarcastic shell. Wilson had found it, had probably always known it, and she was happy for him.

* * *

Whether House knew about what was going on the political and personal level with his team or not, he didn't show it. He was in a good mood and those working with him breathed a sigh of relief. Even if it was only a brief respite. The man was more than neutral, he was downright tame. He didn't miss a second to leave a sarcastic remark, but the biting sarcasm of before had mellowed.

Those of the staff who didn't approve of the homosexual relationship kept their mouths shut because no one would listen to them and they had something good out of it, too. Wilson had been the buffer and catalyst before, that he now shared the same bed with their thorn of the PPTH wasn't really that much more of a sacrifice or shock.

Humming softly to himself, feeling pleased and rather in a good mood due to a difficult case solved and the prospect of a nice long weekend with Wilson in his bed, House limped along the corridor. He stopped at Wilson's office and poked his head in. Seeing that his lover wasn't with a patient – which had never bothered him before – he smiled at the man.

"Dinner?"

"ER."

"Right. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure."

No more words were needed and House smiled to himself. As difficult as their relationship was, it sometimes was easy, too.

"Case solved?" Wilson wanted to know.

"Yep."

"And of course you were right."

House gave him an outraged look. "You had any doubt? Why, Jimmy!"

That earned him a chuckle. "Yes, how could I ever?"

Another smirk. "We should talk about your lack of faith."

Wilson blinked, then cleared his throat. "Right…"

House was almost out of the office again when he stopped, hand on the door. He turned and looked at his lover, already bending over a file again.

"Jimmy?"

Wilson looked up, frowning as he perceived the soft tone that House never used while they were here. House smiled into the brown eyes and the next words came easily.

"I love you."

And with that he turned and left.  
   
 

Wilson was stunned, frozen, almost paralyzed in his thoughts.

House had… had he just…?

"House?!"

He jumped out of his chair and ran over to the door, tearing it open. House was not far down the deserted corridor and if Wilson had had any time to really sort through his wild thoughts, he wouldn't have yelled across the corridor.

"Did you just say you loved me?"

House turned and revealed Cuddy, hidden from Wilson's eyes by the taller frame of his lover, and Wilson felt the blood drain from his face for a second. The smirk on the narrow, scruffy face said everything.

"Obviously." He looked back at Cuddy, rolled his eyes. "Sometimes he's a little slow on the uptake." And with that he limped away.

Wilson felt himself blush in utter embarrassment.

Cuddy joined him where he stood rooted outside his office. "Dr. Wilson?" she inquired mildly.

"He… he said it… he said he…" the oncologist stammered, not yet rationalizing what had occurred.

"I heard," Cuddy said quietly, smiling warmly.

"Wow…."

Wilson felt like a little kid at Christmas.

"Congratulations. Try to not let it interfere with your duties."

He blinked and stared at her, then took in her continued smile. "It won't," he promised.

"Good."

"W-what?" he blurted. "You… you're telling me you approve?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's a good thing." And with that she turned, leaving him alone in the corridor.

Wilson stared after his boss, then went back into his office, still kind of shell-shocked. The shock wore off as House's expression and his words came back.

He had said it.

Out loud.

Grinning like an idiot he finished his dictation and then went down to the ER where he would spend the night, so to speak. His mood was one of elation and happiness, and whatever happened tonight, nothing could change that.


End file.
